She didn’t recognize me. I didn’t know whether to take it as a win, or fall into the deepest depths of despair as she’d asked me such a question. I was too overwhelmed by the gore beneath the delicate silk fabric I’d just placed back on her to let it consume me. I moved from the bed back to the chair between her and the vanity. Two things hadn’t changed: she was still able to snark, and still hated when I used her title. I decided in that moment to call her ‘Princess’ until she recognized me and beat me senseless.


    I sat, watching her observantly from the chair until she shot me a sidelong glance. It was as if she didn’t know whether to spring up from the bed and go straight for my jugular—or to cry. I kept a neutral expression as we locked eyes, propping my head on my fist as I leaned into the arm of the chair. She was analyzing me—analyzing herself, and the words she wanted to say. Hala opened her mouth as if to speak, but shut it again as her eyes fell to the bedspread.


    “Abyad…” she finally said after sitting in silent deliberation. “What he did to me was horrible.” She nearly whispered. She was more than broken. The woman before me was completely shattered, and it enraged me. I had to talk Namir out of storming to Otlak a few hours ago; and sitting with her in that moment, as she spoke with such defeat, made me wish I hadn’t.


    “I can tell…” I replied, my voice as calm as I could get it. I clenched my jaw, watching as she swallowed harshly.


    “I don’t know—” she paused, steeling her resolve. “I don’t know why he changed the way he did…one day, I was his favorite person. The epitome of beauty, in his eyes…and the next—” she stopped herself once more, her eyes filled with anger and sadness. “The next he was accusing me of defiling our marriage with a damned eunuch.”


    I raised my eyebrows, and crossed my legs towards her as I remained in the chair. Silence. Silence was my best option if I wanted to hear the details of what had occurred in the nine years she’d gone without speaking to us.


    “All we did was have tea together! The man was the only person in the entire palace who’d…he said I couldn’t clean, or cook, or have even a patch in the garden to myself! He told me that my family hadn’t written—!” Her voice shook. “He told me I was a disgrace—a whore who deserved nothing more than what he gave…”


    I tightened my free hand on the arm of the chair, and blinked slowly. Breathe. I had to breathe.


    “I didn’t deserve any of that…did I?” Her eyes met mine again, and the moonlight reflecting off of her gaunt face was haunting.


    I clicked my tongue and removed my fist from under my chin, sitting up straight as I looked her dead in the eyes.


    “Hala,” I began—I’d spare her from my running gag just this once. “You didn’t deserve any of what happened to you. I don’t know what that bastard did, but he’s going to pay.” I made sure my worse were succinct. Her eyes softened as tears brimmed them, and she brought her hands to her face once more.


    I wanted to scoop her into my arms in that moment, but she was much too fragile. I thought I’d snap her in two when I held her on the horse, and the sheer emotion within me wouldn’t offer me the same restraint as those initial days. I couldn’t do anything but sit and watch as the woman I loved sobbed silently. She finally spoke again, her voice muffled, heavy with upset as she covered her face.


    “I begged him, Abyad. Every night, I begged and pleaded for him to stop. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.” She repeated as her voice went near-silent while she choked back more tears. Her breathing sputtered, and her bony back raised in shuddering upheavals.


    A wall. I had to be a wall. I couldn’t go flying off the handle, emotionally, in front of her. I said the only thing I could: a common phrase in Mahsulah.


    “Ya, Hala, Ana dhebron folora kazeh…kazeh mo dhebron folora ana.”


    You brought me flowers, so too will I bring them to you.


    Her crying stopped as she lowered her hands, eyes wide with bewilderment. Maybe she understood more than she thought.


    “You’ll never wake up there again, Hala.” I reassured her. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to bite my head off, or if she appreciated such a childish saying. “In that palace, in that building…in Otlak. You’ll never be there again. I promise.” I continued.


    She kept her eyes on me, gripping the sheet she laid beneath tightly. That small, boney hand would lead our people some day. I had to remind myself of that as she stared into my eyes with such a pitiful expression.


    “I want him dead.” She whispered. “I want his head on a fucking pike.” Her voice grew louder as she seethed.


    Three things hadn’t changed, now; her smart ass mouth; her disdain of me calling her by her title; and her short temper. Her tiny frame shook as she tried to cap her anger, and I couldn’t stop my body from moving to the bed again as I brought her into my arms. Guttural cries, even louder than those she released in the forest, came from her chest as she gripped my tunic tightly. I laid my head atop hers, rubbing her shoulder softly as I held her. I’d never heard her like this, not even on the ride back from Otlak when she cried in her sleep. After what felt like years, the sound of heavy footsteps came barreling towards the room.


    “Abyad, what’s going on?” Namir asked as he laid eyes on me. I couldn’t do much but offer a hesitant look to him, knowing Hala couldn’t understand us as we spoke Mahsulah.


    “She’s grieving.” I said.


    Namir replied to my look with an expectant one, as I removed my arms from around Hala. The King took my place on the bed once I stood, and took his daughter in his arms. She was almost protesting the gesture, looking at me with exasperation before looking up to Namir. Her words in Otlank made me shrink.


    “Papa, el tetzansk vretuli na?! El traviste! Tzetsuk el antierne?! Tzetsuk despisan vretula?!”


    Father, did you know what he was going to do to me?! It was horrible! Do you hate me?! Do you hate your own daughter?!


    I was at a loss for words. Her bitter tone coupled with the rigidity of the language even made Namir balk in response. He didn’t understand her, and I was the unfortunate bastard who got to play translator.


    “What did she say?” Namir asked quietly.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    I hesitated as the King looked at me. “She’s upset to have been in Otlak, Your Highness.” I paraphrased.


    His eyes filled with annoyance as he gripped Hala tighter. She was fighting him to the best of her ability, and I couldn’t imagine the pain she had to be in with her wounds.


    “Cut the shit, boy. What did she ask?” He demanded in a threatening tone.


    I told the truth. “She asked why you sent her to Otlak, and if you hate her.” I said tersely. I left out the part where she was now cursing his name to Otlakian Gods as she fought against him. Namir’s eyes darkened, and he looked down at Hala. His gaze lingered, before he looked back at me. He didn’t have to tell me what he wanted to say.


    “Hala, your father doesn’t hate you…” I told her.


    She shrieked back at me in Otlank, still fighting off her Father’s impenetrable grasp. “Then why?! Why else would he send me there?! There’s no other reason, besides him hating me!”


    Namir looked worse than I’d ever seen him, distraught beyond my comprehension. His puzzled expression made me sigh, as I translated for her again.


    “She just keeps asking the same thing, Namir.” I said in Mahsulah. “She can’t comprehend why else you’d have sent her there besides hating her.”


    Namir loosed a breath, his gaze returning to his daughter as he spoke in words she couldn’t understand. “Hala, I’d never have sent you if I’d known he was going to—” he paused, unable to comprehend what had happened to his daughter out of his sight.


    “I don’t hate you, Mitalah. I could never hate you. I don’t even fully understand what happened to you, dear. You have to tell me so that I can do something for you.” For the first time, I heard Namir pleading for something.


    I nodded sadly, and translated the sentiment. Hala was feral, at that point; her grief had gotten the better of her. She wriggled and writhed against Namir as if her very life depended on it, cursing his name and saying things I knew she didn’t mean. I don’t even know if she heard me, if she heard Namir through such vicious rage.


    “Let me go!” She yelled. “I don’t want you touching me! Get away!”


    I furrowed my brows, worried for Hala’s physical and mental well-being should this carry on any longer. With a heavy heart, I tried to urge the King to let Hala go.


    “She’s asking you to let her go, Namir.” I said solemnly. “She doesn’t want you touching her.”


    Namir seemed in shock at the request, holding her even tighter as he replied.


    “What…?” he asked, more defeated than I’d ever heard him. “And leave her be?! She’s my daughter, Abyad!”


    My lips drew into a thin line as I pursed them, trying to diffuse the situation.


    “She’ll open a wound if she keeps fighting against you like that, Namir. Let her go.” I urged once more. His response was to look at me like an imprudent child who didn’t want to put down a toy in a shoppe that he desperately wanted. I wrung my hands together, feeling my own temper growing thin. I shot him one last warning glance that went ignored before I marched to the door, opened it, and yelled at the highest volume I could muster.


    “HAYA!”


    The few servants who littered the halls became urgent, looking around for Hala’s mother or heading for the couple’s room. Within a few seconds, a servant was leading her towards Hala’s room. The Queen’s face was tense with worry, her eyes soft as satin as she glided down the halls; her silken robe flowed behind her. Ever serious, she was everything I hoped to see Hala become, some day. As if she were a healthier—healed version of the Princess. Haya ignored me entirely, pushing past me as she entered the room. That part of Haya, Hala could do without.


    “She wants him off of her.” I snitched. Haya shot Namir a scornful glare, which made him instantly release Hala. He stood from the bed, and it was now Haya’s turn to quell the beast that was their daughter.


    I shut the door to her room as Haya gripped Hala’s shoulders, looking her daughter in the eyes. She then took Hala’s face in her hands, rubbing her daughter’s sunken cheek with her thumb.


    “Hala…” Haya said softly. It was like they were two sides of the same coin. “Look at me, dear.”


    I don’t know how, but Hala understood her. It was as if Haya’s gentleness was a language of its own as she looked lovingly into Hala’s eyes. Hala’ chest rose and fell erratically, and I could see the pent up stress within her.


    “It’s okay. You’re okay.” She said in Mahsulah. She took her hand from Hala’s, pointing around the room before bringing the hand back to her heart. “You’re with people who love you.”


    Hala’s eyes softened, and her shoulders slumped as tears welled in her eyes once more.


    “Mama, Papa de—” Hala began, only to be cut off by her mother dotingly hushing her.


    “Shh…” she cooed as she drew Hala in for a hug. “You’re okay.”


    Namir brought a hand to his face, and I watched with both awe and devastation as Haya soothed Hala. For a sliver of a second, I thought I heard Namir sniffle. It was one of the most difficult nights of my life, watching it all unfold and being almost completely powerless. It felt like the Kingdom of Mahsul wouldn’t get its peace back for decades. Haya rubbed Hala’s back, sitting with her in silence before Hala asked something that entirely broke me.


    “Mother…?” She whimpered.


    “Hm?” Haya replied.


    “Even though I’m tarnished, why do you still love me?”


    Haya looked at me with innocent eyes, completely unaware of the words that had just left Hala’s mouth. I didn’t want to play translator, anymore. I loosed a breath, and repeated the question in Mahsulah for Haya to understand. Namir had to step out of the room after I’d translated such a heavy question, and if I hadn’t been caught in the middle of it all I would have joined him.


    Haya’s face fell as she looked Hala in the eyes. “You are not tainted, Hala. You’re still strong, and powerful. I love you because you are my child—my baby.” She replied, cupping Hala’s face in her hand. Hala’s mouth curled into a frown once more at her mother as she tried to steady her breaths.


    I lingered for a few moments, questioning whether or not the women may need a translator again before making the decision to leave the room, myself. I rubbed my face vigorously after shutting the door, my eyes tearing up from the sheer exhaustion I felt. I drew in a breath before following Namir down the marble halls, hot on his heels.


    “Namir.” I called, falling in line with his steps.


    “I can’t talk right now, Abyad.” He replied flatly.


    “She doesn’t hate you, Namir, she’s just upset by her experience. I promise, you’ll grow close again—“


    “I said I can’t talk right now, Skwayar.” Namir interjected, raising his voice.


    I knew better than to talk back to him when he was in such a state. I shot a sidelong glance at him, noting each line in his face that wrinkled with worry. He wasn’t the Mighty Al’Namir in that moment; he was a father who felt like his daughter would never love him again. The image was dour. I let him walk a few paces ahead of me, slowing my gait and watching as he opened the heavy door to the throne room. After it shut, I was entirely alone in the halls—or so I thought, until I looked to my left and noticed a familiar set of red eyes peering at me through the darkness. Fiid. I thought.


    “What is it, Bròn?” I barked.


    “It’s bin a heavy day, eh?” He asked, speaking fluent Mahsulah with his usual accent as he materialized.


    I was astonished at how proficient the man had become in the language, only to remember he was immortal, with immortal powers.


    “You could say that…” I replied, crossing my arms.


    “Don’tcha think the King needs a little hug?” He asked, a playful smile painting his lips.


    I raised an eyebrow at him, imagining Namir socking me in the gut for trying to hug him right then.


    “If you think he needs a hug so bad, you do it.” I spat in response.


    Bròn chuckled, and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I will.” He said.


    I loosed a breath as I began walking down the hall, back towards my room. I was more than done with the day, having just returned home after the trip to and from Otlak. I was still trying to figure out how to handle Shahin—I hadn’t expected to end up back in Mahsul with Hala. The 22 days straight of travel were getting to me now, it was a matter of time before I lost my cool.